Page 59 of Silent Scream
‘Are you kidding? You’re just going to leave her down there?’
Cerys turned to her, surprised. ‘Firstly, we're not yet sure it isn't a dead dog,’ Cerys said using Kim’s own example of the previous day. ‘And secondly, if there is another body down there it would be foolhardy to assign a sex when the first one ...’
‘What is it with you scientists? Is there a special class at university called the extraction of free thinking?’
‘If we start disturbing the soil now, knowing we're not able to complete it, we run the risk of exposing the site to the elements. Valuable evidence may be lost.’
Kim shook her head. ‘You’re all the same, like little android clones who rely on ...’
‘I can assure you that we are not all the same. Yesterday, we did it your way but today, we do it mine.’
Kim glowered at her.
Cerys folded her arms. ‘I understand your impatience, Detective. In fact I’ve seen it first-hand, but I will not be bullied into making mistakes. In addition, my team left their homes at four this morning to be here. A team needs rest.’
Cerys began to walk away, but returned. ‘I promise, she’s safe for one more night.’
‘Thank you ... Cerys.’
‘You’re welcome ... Kim.’
She headed over to Bryant and Dawson and pulled them to one side. ‘Okay, guys, they’re winding down here for the day. This is gonna break wide open tomorrow if we find another body down there.
‘Go home and get some rest while you can. From tomorrow this is going to be non-stop so be sure to let family members know that your shift rota is a distant memory.’
‘No problem, Guv,’ Dawson offered brightly. His eyes were dark and a little bloodshot but he was learning his lesson.
‘Okay, Bryant?’
‘As ever, Guv.’
‘Right, briefing at seven. Someone let Stacey know.’
As Kim walked away from them both she quietly seethed inside. Waiting was not an activity she did well.
Thirty
It was almostmidnight when Kim entered the garage. The quiet family street beyond had settled into cosy silence. She switched on her iPod and chose Chopin’s ‘Nocturnes’. The solo piano pieces would ease her through the early morning hours until her body demanded sleep.
After leaving the crime scene she had returned to the station unable to do nothing while there was the potential of another body lying in the ground.
Eventually she had returned home and vacuumed the house throughout. She had mopped the kitchen and used half a bottle of Cillit Bang on the work surfaces. Two washing cycles had ended and the clothes had been dried, ironed and hung in her wardrobe.
The nervous energy had still raged around her body, prompting her to fix a broken shelf in the bathroom, rearrange the furniture in the lounge and tidy out the airing cupboard at the top of the stairs.
Probably just need to cleanse, she thought, stepping into her favourite room of the entire house.
To her left was the Ninja, reversed into the space, poised for their next adventure.
For a moment Kim visualised herself lying into the body of the bike, her breasts and stomach against the petrol tank, her thighs clutched around the leather seat, bending the bike into a series of tight turns; her knees an inch from the ground. The co-ordination of her hands and feet working together to control the beast took every ounce of concentration and erased everything else from her mind.
Riding the Ninja was like breaking in a spirited horse. It was a question of control, of taming a rebel.
Bryant had once told her that she liked to argue with fate. He said fate had dictated that she was beautiful and yet she fought against it by doing nothing to enhance her looks. He said fate had decided that she couldn’t cook and yet she tried complex dishes every week. But only she knew that fate had decreed that she would die young and so far she had fought against it. And won.
There were times when the fates chased her to make her what she should have been when she was six years old; a statistic. So, every now and again she tempted them, goaded them into catching her as they had tried to back then.
The restoration of the Triumph Thunderbird was a labour of love, a testament to two people who had tried to make her feel safe, who had tried to love her. The Thunderbird was an emotional journey that bathed her spirit.
